


off-day

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Fever, Found Family, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I mean.. - Freeform, Sick Character, Sickfic, hh its cute i swear.., my tag ahaha, not much this time! but its Always There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy isn’t the best at realising he’s sick. Don’t blame him.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 42
Kudos: 2018





	off-day

Tommy’s freezing.

He’s always been particularly susceptible to the cold, but it’s one of the hottest days in England and he’s fucking shivering. His parents are out for the week, and his grandfather is out with his friends playing bingo, like old people did. Tommy’s on call with Wilbur and Tubbo, legs tucked under him and wearing a thick sweater over his t-shirt. He’s somewhere in between uncomfortably warm and too cold.

Wilbur’s playing Valorant, waiting for Phil to join the call, and Tubbo’s playing Tekkit. Their cameras are on. Tommy’s is too.

He’d been editing and writing down ideas for an assignment, but at some point he’d leaned back into his chair, cupping his head with his hands. His head hurt. He was cold.

”My head hurts,” Tommy announces. Wilbur hums and Tubbo looks up in concern.

”Go take some painkillers,” Tubbo says. “Or go to sleep if you don’t want to.”

”I might,” Tommy says, rubbing his temples. “But I really need to do this assignment.”

”What’s it about?” Wilbur says. “Maybe we could help.”

”No, it’s creativity,” Tommy grumbles. “I hate that shit.”

”Yuck, creativity,” Tubbo agrees, resting his chin on his hand. 

They sit in relative silence for a bit; Tubbo focuses on his mechanisms, and the quiet sound of gunfire accompanies Wilbur’s soft swears. Tommy slides all the way down in his chair, hair barely visible on camera. His head is _pounding._

Tommy flinches when Wilbur screams as he’s killed and pulls off his headphones, head throbbing even worse. He stands, abruptly, head still in his hands and murmurs a “I’m gonna get those painkillers,” before walking out of the room.

None of the lights are on and he doesn’t bother with them, instead relying on muscle memory to make his way downstairs. He’d seen Advil somewhere in the kitchen, so he heads there.

He drops most of his weight onto a counter when he reaches, pulling himself into a barstool and reaching for the bottle and some water. He pours some out for himself and swallows the pills, gagging. Pills are gross.

He honestly doesn’t know if he’s sick. Maybe it should be obvious; he was freezing in such high temperatures, and his head hurt; but he honestly never cared much about his health, and when he _did_ his parents had a habit of ignoring it until it got too bad. He wasn’t really sure now, and he didn’t know how to check.

He grabs a thermometer anyway, rummaging through their box of medical supplies. Maybe he’d figure it out. He rubs his forehead, then his cheeks. Either his hands or his face are warm. He can’t tell.

He makes his way back to his room, stopping for a bit on the stairs when he gets dizzy and dropping down onto a step so he doesn’t fall. He stands once his head stops spinning and continues up, making sure not to trip over anything.

Wilbur makes a concerned sound when Tommy puts his headphones back on. “You good, Tommy? You took a while.”

”Yeah,” Tommy says. “I think I might be sick?”

Tubbo looks concerned when he says that; he knows Tommy isn’t one to realise he’s sick, or tell anyone if he thinks he is. “What’s up?”

”I’m freezing,” Tommy says. “It’s fucking burning today, and I’m wearing like three layers.”

Tubbo hums. “Can you check your temperature?”

”I can try, I found a glass one,” Tommy replies. Wilbur’s typing intensely. Tommy pulls out the thermometer.

”You’re supposed to run it under water,” Wilbur says. “Then put it under your tongue for a bit.”

”Gross,” Tommy comments, standing up and moving to the bathroom.

When he comes back, Wilbur and Tubbo have been joined by Phil, and they’re talking about Phil’s day. Tommy drops into his seat. “Hello, Philza Minecraft.”

”Hello, Thomas Isn’t-it,” Phil chuckles, like a boomer. Tommy giggles involuntarily, raising the thermometer to eye level. “Are you sick?”

”I dunno,” he says. He doesn’t. “This looks fine.”

”Yeah, so you stick it under your tongue for two minutes.”

Tommy turns off his camera, uncomfortable with doing so with it on, and sticks it under his tongue. It feels weird, and he props his legs up on the table and leans back, chiming into their conversation with occasional hums of agreement.

He pulls it out after what feels like two minutes. “That felt gross,” he says. “Thermometers are gross.”

”Is no one at home, Tommy?” Phil asks.

”No,” Tommy replies, turning on his camera. “Parents are outta town, and I thought Grandad went for bingo or something but I honestly think he went home. Something about me being old enough to take care of myself.” He stops. “I am.”

“No one says you aren’t,” Phil replies slowly, stretching. “It’s just better to have people to help.”

Tommy contemplates this, eying the thermometer. It says something between 37 and 40. He squints, then yelps as the glass drops from his hands. “I broke it.”

”That’s mercury, Tommy, be careful.”

Tommy bends over in his chair, grabbing the largest piece. It looks mostly intact; the end is just gone completely. “I don’t think it leaked or anything.”

”Throw it away, then,” the older teenager says. “Shouldn’t risk it.”

“How much was it?” Phil asks.

”37 or 38? I’m not sure,” Tommy admits. “I didn’t get to read it properly.”

”I’m asking your mum if I can come over,” Wilbur says. “You’re obviously sick.”

”It’s fine, Wilbur!” Tommy says. “I feel fine, I think.”

”You always feel fine,” Tubbo says.

”I-I mean I can’t really tell when I’m not.”

”Jesus Christ,” Wilbur says, going on deafen. Tommy sighs miserably.

”He’s worried, isn’t he.” It’s a statement.

”He is,” Phil said. “He’d be a bad friend if he wasn’t.”

”I hate making people worry,” Tommy says. “I try not to do it much.”

”You don’t have to hide if you feel under the weather,” Tubbo says. “We’ll worry about everybody. You aren’t an exception.”

Tommy hums awkwardly. “I’m gonna grab some water.”

He pushes himself off his chair, hair falling into his eyes, and balances himself against his desk before starting to make his way to the door. He’s freezing and sweaty, and his head’s spinning and it hurts like a bitch.

He drops to the floor halfway to the hallway. He’s too tired to move. He raises his voice. “Ow.” His voice slurs whenever he tries to speak, so he gives up on it.

He can’t hear the replies of his friends; his headphones are too far away, and he’s exhausted, and his lungs feel too heavy to breath with, so he closes his eyes and waits. Maybe he’ll feel better when he wakes up.

~~~

He comes to to the feeling of large hands gently cupping his face and pulling him into a sitting position. They’re cool, and Tommy leans into them.

”-can you hear me?”

”Dad?” he slurs, struggling not to fall over. “When’d you.. get home?”

”Your dad isn’t home right now, Tommy,” the voice says. “Wilbur, help me get him up.”

”Can you stand?” another voice says. Tommy shakes his head hazily. His body hurts too much; if he stands he’ll fall over immediately.

Arms wrap around his shoulders and under his knees and he feels himself being lifted off the ground. He drops his head against the chest of the person carrying him. The two people in his house are talking. They sound familiar.

”Hi, Wilb’r,” he says to the man holding him. 

”Hi, Tommy,” he says, pulling him higher. “We’re going to the hospital, okay?”

”Oh,” he says. “‘M sorry.”

”Don’t be,” the first voice replies. It’s Phil. “Everyone needs help sometimes.”

Tommy hums and buries his face into Wilbur’s shoulder as they step out into the sun. He makes annoyed noises when Wilbur deposits him in the back seat and tips against the older man when he joins him, with Phil driving.

The hospital is crowded and noisy, especially the emergency room; he’s been here often, with his talent for getting sick and not realising. It doesn’t stop him from hating it. It turns out he’d had a 104 degree fever, which was _really_ dangerous. He hadn’t realised.

Wilbur stays with him in his curtained area as Phil talks to doctors outside, talking quietly to him; most of it goes over Tommy’s head, but he appreciates it, especially when a nurse comes in with an IV. Tommy hates needles. They’re both painful and terrifying.

Especially now, when apparently he’s been so dehydrated that they literally can’t find his veins to puncture. It takes a couple of tries for the nurse to find the right spot, and by then Tommy’s squeezed out a few tears, hand curled around Wilbur’s. He hates being sick.

They stick an oxygen mask over his face, which he’s familiar with but sick of; they took up _so_ much time, and they always made his nose run. It’s better than not being able to breathe, though, so he gives into it quickly.

Phil returns with snacks and good news; being that they’d be able to leave pretty soon, which is good. Tommy’s headache has lessened, and he isn’t freezing anymore, just cold. He’d shed the sweater a whole ago, maybe a few hours. Hospital stays were always way too long.

They head to a McDonald’s when he’s released. Tommy gives in to his urge to buy a Happy Meal (they were actually worth the price, okay, he didn’t just want to make fun of the Trolls toys) and makes fun of the Trolls toys with Wilbur, Phil on the phone to his wife. Tubbo joins them while they’re still eating, and the older boy gets a McFlurry, which is McUnfair since Phil’d specifically banned _him_ from ice cream.

They head to Phil’s house when they’re done. Tommy’s mum had given the man permission to keep Tommy there, the two of them having talked while they were in the hospital; Tommy’s parents wouldn’t be by for another week. That was normal, although it hurt. He had his friends for now.

Tommy looks up from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. His head in in Phil’s lap, and the older man is absently straightening the knots in his hair. His feet are in Wilbur’s, who mostly ignores them and pokes them whenever Tommy makes a bad joke, and Tubbo is on the floor, head resting against Tommy’s side, watching the television. His hand is tightly curled around Tommy’s. Tommy can’t even call him clingy since he’d initiated the contact.

”I’m sorry for bothering you guys today,” he repeats instead. “I should’ve taken better care of myself.”

”And others should’ve noticed,” Wilbur counters, poking his toe. Tommy giggles quietly. “You’re a kid. We take care of you, okay?”

Tubbo squeezes his hand in agreement, and Phil says, “Don’t hesitate to come to us if you need help, okay? Both of you.”

Tommy’ll try.

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha.. i have been sick... and in pain....  
> okay but like have you guys heard tommy cough?? i always immediately get concerned because like boy... i have asthma and he sounds like me coughing on bad days... sir do you need some Lung Steam  
> aaaanyways  
> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are very much appreciated! Go follow @qarraqar on Instagram if you can I’ll probably upload some traditional art soon :)  
> Stay safe everybody!! <3


End file.
